Think About Her

ALEXANDER’S POV

"Fuck!"

My palm slammed down on the mahogany desk with enough force to rattle the crystal decanter and send a stack of contracts sliding sideways. The sharp sting in my hand did nothing to dull the inferno raging inside my chest. I shoved the papers aside, deals worth millions, alliances that could topple empires and they scattered like they meant nothing. Right now, they didn't.

All I could see was her. Emma Isabelle. My new fucking stepsister.

The word stepsister tasted like poison on my tongue because all I wanted to do was to kill her.

I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until that defiant spark in her eyes finally went out. No one had ever spoken to me like that in my own house. Not employees, not rivals, not even my father when he was still breathing down my neck. Disrespect like hers demanded blood. One pull of the trigger, one clean shot, and the problem would be gone.

But I couldn't. Not yet.

Because of him. My father. Jason Smith. The old man had tied this knot himself, merging our families like some goddamn business merger, and if I spilled her blood now, I'd be spilling his legacy all over the floor. He'd made it clear, keep her alive, she is your stepsister. He was soon going to marry her mother.

I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling hard through my teeth. The rage wasn't just anger anymore, it was something darker, twisted, coiling tighter every time I thought about her.

That night in the club had ruined me.

I'd spotted her the second she walked in, drunk, reckless, laughing too loud with her friends. When she slid into my booth uninvited, when she climbed onto my lap and rolled those hips like she owned me, something snapped inside. Her scent mixed with cheap vodka and pure sin had branded itself into my lungs. The way she'd ground against me, bold and filthy, testing every limit I had... I'd let her. I'd let her keep going until I was rock-hard and seconds from flipping her onto the table and taking what she was offering.

Then I'd stopped myself. Thrown her out and sent her home.

But I hadn't forgotten. Not for a single second.

Even before the dinner where my father introduced her as family, I'd already searched everything about her. Social media, university records, old photos, text threads scraped from public leaks, everything. I knew her favorite bars, her playlist on Spotify, the way she bit her lip when she was nervous. I knew she was twenty-one credits shy of graduating, that her mother had dragged her through three stepfathers already, that she hated rules and loved chaos.

And now she was here. In my house, under my roof. Taunting me.

"Shit," I growled, shoving back from the desk so hard that the leather chair scraped across the polished floor.

The office felt too small suddenly, dark walnut paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with first editions I never read, a single low lamp casting long shadows across the Persian rug. The city skyline glittered beyond the tinted windows like distant stars, indifferent to the storm inside me.

I needed something to distract me.

I needed noise. Smoke. Bodies. Something to drown the echo of her voice calling me a controlling bastard, telling me to fuck myself while she drank my vodka like it was water.

I grabbed my phone from the table and I thumbed open the secure chat with Salvado, my manager at Eclipse, the flagship club I owned downtown.

Me: VIP section. Full lockdown. Ready in fifteen.

The reply came instantly.

Salvado: Understood, boss. Section cleared. Your usual bottle waiting. Security doubled.

I put on my black wool overcoat and shoved my gun into the holster at my waist, preparing myself for whatever comes.

I strode out of the office, boots silent on the marble hallway. The house was quiet but I knew it. Somewhere upstairs, she was probably still seething in her room, plotting her next little rebellion.  But the more she pushed, the tighter I'd pull the leash.

By the time I reached the underground garage, the black Maybach was already idling, exhaust curling in the cool air. My driver opened the rear door without a word.

" Eclipse," I said, sliding into the leather seat. "Fast."

The car pulled out smoothly and within fifteen minutes, I stepped through the private entrance at the back of the club. The main floor throbbed, bass so deep that it vibrated in my bones, strobe lights slicing through haze, bodies grinding under purple neon. But I didn't stop. Salvado met me at the velvet rope to the VIP mezzanine and his head bowed slightly.

"Everything's set, sir. Your section. Top shelf only. No one enters without your say."

I gave a curt nod and climbed the curved staircase.

The VIP lounge was empty except for me, plush black velvet sectional curved around a low glass table, chilled bottles of Macallan 25 and Grey Goose already sweating in silver buckets. Floor-to-ceiling one way glass overlooked the dance floor below like a king's balcony. Private, controlled and mine.

I dropped into the center of the sectional, legs spread, arms draped along the back. A server appeared instantly, young, nervous, tray trembling slightly as she set down a crystal tumbler and poured three fingers of scotch.

"Anything else, Mr. Smith?"

"Leave the bottle," I said without looking at her. "And disappear." I added. She vanished instantly.

I took a slow sip, letting the burn slide down my throat. The alcohol did nothing to cool the heat under my skin.

My mind kept circling back to her.

Emma.

The way she'd shoved at my chest earlier, fearless and furious. The flush on her cheeks when she reminded me she'd dry-humped me in public. The challenge in her eyes when she said I didn't own her.

She had no idea.

I already did.

Every camera in this house fed to my phone. Every door lock was keyed to my fingerprint. Her phone? I'd had a tracker on it since the day she moved in. Her friends? Watched. Her movements? Logged.

She thought she was fighting a war but she was already inside the cage.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over the live feed app. One tap, and her room would appear, every angle, crystal clear even if she is naked.

I didn't press it. 

Instead, I drained the glass in one go and poured another.